


the list

by atari_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, No Plot, Snuggling, bucky is recovering and needs all the love, just a whole mess of fluff, one in which bucky is introspective and needs love, only fluff, self love, shamless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 11:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: bucky is still mentally recovering from thinking of himself as a monster. your words help when nothing else does.





	the list

**Author's Note:**

> just something plot-less and happy <3

Bucky couldn't sleep.  
That in itself wasn't so concerning. There were too many nights where Bucky hadn't been able to make himself fall asleep, no matter how exhausted he was. What worried him tonight was the fact that he couldn't even feel the touch of sleep; not even a whisper of it, despite the fact that you were tucked tight to his body. It worried him. More than he liked to admit.  
Before you, he'd had more sleepless nights than he could count. The still silence of deep night was familiar to him. It haunted him. In a way it comforted him. It taunted him.  
_Look_ , it said. _The whole world is sleeping; it knows the peace of night. What about you? Why can't you sleep?_  
He knew the answer. He always knew the answer. _Monsters don't sleep_.  
That thought was tumbling around in his head even now, even though you were so close. _Monsters don't sleep_.  
The thought makes him feel guilty, and he glances over at your sleeping face. It's relaxed now, nothing like the look of concentration you have on your face for much of the day, even though you're still breathtakingly beautiful with your eyebrows pinched together and your mouth twisted to the side. He just thinks there's something so gentle and innocent about the way you look when you're deep in sleep.  
Your soft lips are gently parted, your eyelashes soft on the curve of your cheek. Your deep breaths puff out onto the bare skin of his chest, and he smiles just a little bit. He can't believe you would let a monster like him hold you so close while you're so vulnerable.  
Of course, that's where you'd interject that you wouldn't, which means he's not a monster at all. He can picture that determined look on your face every time he said that word. The unhappy curve of your mouth and that familiar pinch of your eyebrows. You always said that negative thoughts--even just a word like that--were seeds. Once they were said, they were planted. Then other negative thoughts and self-hatred watered them, made them grow and take root and spread, until hatred and negativity flourished in his heart.  
He sighs. Tries to push that awful word out of his mind. _Monster_.  
The fingers of his metal arm--the arm not trapped underneath you--gently trace the curve of your cheek. He recalls the list of words you'd given him to push the bad words out. Adjectives that you said described him. You'd encouraged him to glance at it if he needed to, a little embarrassed at giving him something so personal. He'd memorized it that same night.  
_Beautiful_ , that was the first one. His metal thumb follows the curve of your lip, the flash of moonlight off the metal almost making him sick. You were the beautiful one. But it was on the list, so he repeated it. _Beautiful_.  
_Strong_. It wasn't his favorite, since this one was an easy segue into the physical strength he had as the soldier, but you'd said it was a strength of spirit, a strength of heart. A kind of resilience. He like that, that kind of strength was valuable, and you said he had it.  
_Compassionate_ was the next word. This one is a little easier. Even as the soldier, doing those terrible things, the human part of him still felt a small amount of compassion for the people he came across. And now, whenever the two of you were on a walk and came across a stray animal or crying child, he knew that was compassion that tugged at his heart. This one was good. He saw this one.  
_Gentle_ , not so much. He was not gentle. He was harsh and dangerous and sharp, cruel lines. But no, he was supposed to believe these. He thought back over the examples he'd thought of before. The way he picked up stray cats and carried them home, much to your affectionate frustration. The way he held your tiny niece, even though he was terrified of hurting her. The way he held your hand. Those were gentle things. He could be gentle.  
_Affectionate_. He knew this one was a light jab, a tease from you even though it was definitely true. He was downright clingy. He looked at your bodies and smiled. The way the two of you were tangled up was a very real example of his affectionate nature. He would shove his head into your lap when you were reading on the couch, he often sat as close as physically possible, he would beg for your fingers in his hair or your arms around him in bed. He was definitely affectionate, he thinks with a broad smile.  
_Protective_. This one…this one was true. He knew that. But it also brought a few muddled, bad thoughts. Thoughts of what you might need protecting from, thoughts of himself as the thing you needed protecting from. But no, this one was based on the gross guys at bars, the spiders in the bathroom, the scary sounds in your apartment. Your own bodyguard. The thought makes him soft inside. He strokes his thumb over your cheek, his other fingers cupping the back of your head. He'd protect you with everything in him.  
_Mine_. That was the last word. It was right on the heels of protective, and the two together made a feeling of primal possessiveness curl in his stomach. He belonged to you, and you to him. He deserved you, that was a part of it, you'd said. He deserved your love and he deserved to belong to you. He clung to the thought.


End file.
